


The Ruins Of The Day

by PeachGlitch



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Denial of Feelings, Gen, Guilt, Politics, Slow Burn, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGlitch/pseuds/PeachGlitch
Summary: Malcolm’s thoughts and observations about Nicola before and after forcing her to resign.Until he has to face her again.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33





	1. Coming From Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm’s thoughts just _before_ ending Nicola’s career in front of Dan Miller.

He had to ruin her, quash her enthusiasm, destroy whatever confidence _he_ had helped flourish within her in the first place. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done to countless others before. It came with the territory; he was _infamous_ for cutting careers short, as well as building them up. And he would do it by any means necessary, wether quietly or loudly; whatever it took to keep the party going. Unfortunately for Nicola in this case, he would need to be pretty fucking loud. Because she was an idealist and stubborn, with the faintest hint of naivety. It was an unique combination of traits, that made it difficult to get through to Nicola, when she lacked common sense. He’d made a mental note of this fact, upon minutes of meeting with her at DoSAC for the first time.

A bitter sweet smile forms on his lips, as he remembered to back then. Before that day, he’d never heard of Nicola Murray, let alone cross paths with her. When he’d walked into DoSAC that day to meet the new Minister, he’d expected the usual sort of person. Dull, egotistical but pliant when it came down to it. Instead he had been practically attacked by a tidal wave of exuberance and vivid colour. Her outward aesthetic screamed chaotic, from her mismatched floral dress and purple cardigan, which resembled an artsy/bohemian school teacher’s sort of outfit, rather than a minister. To her frizzy mess of brunette hair. Malcolm had almost questioned wether or not she was the right Nicola Murray and not some imposter. She looked out of place even back then. And it wasn’t just due to her outward looks either.

Nicola’s warmth and kindness, which he could sense even through her scatty disposition that day; was only matched by her defiance to not allow him to control every aspect of her life. She was nervous, maybe even a little intimidated at being flung into the deep end so suddenly; but that didn’t stop her from throwing back her own sardonic digs at him. He’d even go as far as saying, he’d been impressed by her; if only her capability as a Minister had matched her lively personality.

Then maybe he wouldn’t be standing where he was; about to lay into her of which the likes she’d never had to deal with before from him. Sure he’d been angry in the past, shouted and cursed at her; but this was different. This was political murder; this was him no longer being in her corner. He was about to replace her for Dan Miller and he _needed_ her to understand. There would be no coming back from this. So he would do it with an audience. Be cruel to her, humiliate her until she finally understands that their alliance, if they ever had one, was severed.

It wasn’t all her fault, he knew she wasn’t an idiot. She was just...just not cut out for leader. Or maybe even politics in general. She was to, well, _nice._ She genuinely wanted to make things better, to be a difference in people’s lives. In an ideal world that wouldn’t hinder someone’s career path; but they didn’t live in a make believe world where the good person was always triumphant. This was dog eat dog and Nicola was about to be devoured.

For some maddening reason the thought makes him frown. Maybe it was due to the slither of guilt he was currently trying to bury. Which in itself was ridiculous, because why should he care about what happened to Nicola? She wasn’t anything to him, she was scarcely a colleague anymore. And once this meeting was done, she wouldn’t even be part of his life. Just another victim of his unyielding devotion to his job; and whoever was favourite to prolong his own career in this cut-throat field. He knew exactly what he would say, because he knew her. Knew what would cut deepest, and with that knowledge in his arsenal, Nicola didn’t stand a chance. The lines on his face deepened at that, and his felt hot all of a sudden. He tries to remember ever feeling this way before ending anyone else’s career, he comes up blank. 

_Fuck._

Another image of Nicola pops into his brain. When he told her Ella’s headmaster would have to resign because of her. The utter devastation she felt over that had been obvious. Nicola was an empath, perhaps more so than the average person. The fact that her initial reaction was to announce that she would quit her job, to save a total stranger’s spoke volumes. It reminded Malcolm that underneath her middle class demeanour, that Nicola was fundamentally a decent human being. Far more decent than her ever was or could be. As he was about to prove in a matter of minutes.

As the time for reckoning drew closer, another intrusive thought manifests into Malcolm’s brain; one that definitely needed to be quashed. That was, that he might even _like_ her. That maybe if it wasn’t for their jobs, he could of even...

...No. He wouldn’t let his mind wander _that_ far. 

Besides. It was too late now. He reminds himself, just as he recalls the way Nicola’s curves looked in that grey dress in Eastbourne. And how her toned calves looked good for a woman pushing forty something, especially when she had her heels on and a pencil skirt. 

Malcolm swallows a lump in his throat. These pointless thoughts were not at all appropriate. Especially about a woman whom he was about to obliterate verbally, and make resign. Besides she wasn’t even his type, and he’d easily overlook her at a bar. He liked slim and serious, not curvy and sweet. He had a thing for tall redheads like Marianne from the Daily Mail. And much younger than someone who had four kids under their belt. It didn’t make sense that he would suddenly be fantasising about any beauty spots Nicola might have, or what her face would look like right after waking up. 

Maybe it wasn’t just her he needed to convince this afternoon; maybe he needed to force himself to be done with her as well. Then move on with his life.

He shifts in his chair uncomfortably, as he thought about how she had practically changed her entire self at his demand. She resembled nothing of the vibrant woman he’d met back in DoSAC. He’d morphed her into what he thought a leader should be. Hair cut into a bland bob, dresses replaced with tailored suits and no hint of the funny and charming Nicola he’d enjoyed working with. It was ironic really. The press had dubbed her as glum once upon a time, when she was anything but that. And now here she was, unknowingly about to have her world turned upside down; and thanks to him, actually _the_ glummy mummy persona, so many saw her as.

When he hears a familiar set of footsteps approach, his whole world collapses around him. She will be furious, hurt and embarrassed and she will end up hating him; 

but not as much as he will hate himself.


	2. Painted With A Scar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm’s thoughts _after_ ending Nicola’s career in front of Dan Miller.

_”You are not a grandee, you are a fucking blandee. No-one knew what the fuck you stood for. Political fucking mist, no substance, no weight. You've got all the charm of a rotting teddy bear by a graveside. And by the way, women fucking hate you. I can show you the polling. They think you come across like a jittery mother at a wedding. The best thing you ever did in your flat-lining non-leadership was call for an inquiry, because it will fuck the government and it will fuck you. Now, please, just fuck off back to your home, you headless frump, and prepare for your column in Grazia.”_

Malcolm’s brain felt like it was frying inside his own skull. For once his own visceral ranting felt like too much. He couldn’t stop replying the scene over and over and _over_ in his head. He’d planned on being crueler than usual, to hit Nicola where it hurt just incase she had any fantasies that her time as leader wasn’t actually over.

By the way she kept staring at him as he spoke, it was clear she’d gotten the message loud and clear. He’d made sure to keep his attention on her the entire time, he owed her that much respect at least. But fuck, he hadn’t counted on having those greenish hazel eyes bore into him quite so intensely. Nor the affect they had on him. After years of working closely with Nicola he’d learned how to read those eyes. He knew that when they darted back and forth she was on a verge of a panic attack, or when they looked more green than usual, meant that she was excited. Today they looked stoic, but not lifeless; no, she could never be that, no matter what he’d said about her being political mist. Even as she tried to appear indifferent, he could see all of her emotions in those two pools looking back at him. They radiated anger and betrayal, hurt and sadness, humiliation and defeat all at once. It was almost unbearable, but he couldn’t stop staring right back at her; like looking at a car crash on the motorway. 

She’d cried once in front of him, when they were discussing Ella’s bullying situation. He wonders if Dan Miller hadn’t of been there, wether or not she would of again. He doubts it. She’d let herself be vulnerable back then because she trusted him. That trust was completely shatttered now. Regardless if there was an audience or not; he can’t see her ever being open like that in front of him again. Not that he thinks he will ever see her in the flesh again. Only on pages of newspapers and on the news for a week or so, until the press and public forget her existence. He knows he won’t have that luxury.

Malcolm smirks to himself, alone in his office; at least she’d had some fight in her at the end. He doesn’t know what was more impressive her metaphor about pissing in tents or her swift exit right after mocking Dan Miller’s grammatically incorrect sign. It gave her the last word. And although he could of easily countered her with one more biting remark, he let her have that small win. 

After she’d gone Dan had tried to engage him in mockery of his predecessor; he hadn’t the energy to join in. To focused on the scent of her perfume, that lingered near where she’d been sitting. Something floral, but not overbearing; a smell he would forever associate with Nicola. So he’d expertly changed the subject before leaving for his own office. Sam, who knew him better than most had even asked if everything was alright as he walked passed her desk. He’d given her the generic, “of course I fucking am.” Through not as harsh as usual, and in that gentler tone he only reserved for her.

He glances at his blackberry on his desk. Wonders briefly if she’d pick up if he called her. Imagines a scenario where calling her and explaining himself was an actual possibility. Even more unrealistic, a reality where she would understand and forgive him. It made him realise how terrible he must really be. That’s he could make someone so fundamentally kind as Nicola Murray even despise him. 

Her final words echo in his head. He knows she was referring to the inquiry. A part of him hopes she gets her revenge. If this was to be the nail in his political coffin, it would be fitting if she was the one to hammer it in. 

Malcolm shakes his head, because he knows her too damn well. Knows she’s not like the rest of them who would eat each other to step ahead. Which makes him certain that when it comes down to it, her caring nature will override her anger; and she will not, as she put it “piss in his tent.”

He should feel pleased with himself; he just feels empty.


	3. The Feelings Start To Rot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half since seeing her, Malcolm bumps into Nicola again.

Of all the places Malcolm could of ever pictured bumping into Nicola again, a supermarket wouldn’t have even reached his top twenty. It was just so mundane, too ordinary for them. Not that he had a literal list. Although he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t dreamt up a few scenarios. 

Yet here they both are, him with an empty basket in his hand and her with a half filled trolley. Nicola hasn’t noticed him yet, too focused on reading the ingredients on a ‘Tesco’s Finest’ ready meal. She was squinting as she read, something he’d never notice her do before. If he had he would of told her to get reading glasses, he would tell her now if he had the courage. It had been a whole year and a half since he last saw her. Even longer since he’d observed her reading a document or speech. Her apparent need for reading glasses now, was just another reminder of the passing of time. Or more specifically the waste of time between them.

During his short stint in prison, he’d considered writing to her. He’d considered writing to lot of people actually, but her specifically. Not to explain himself, but to...ah, fuck knows what. He just found that he missed her, and that niggiling feeling that made a home in his heart whenever he thought of her, never went away. No matter how much time passed. He never did write that letter; the words he wanted to say just seemed to small in the grand scheme of things.

So the fact that his first venture into an actual super market in six months, has brought him straight back into her orbit, seemed like a cruel cosmic joke.

After his initial panic, Malcolm’s second thought is how good she looks. Not that he was oggling her, well maybe a little. She has a lilac duster jacket on, and he can see a glimpse of white material underneath. And he was sure he’d never seen her in a pair of dark blue denim jeans before; but there they are right in front of him. Hugging her toned legs superbly. Her hair is longer than the last time he’d seen her, in Dan Miller’s office. But it isn’t as long as it had been when he had first met her. It looks as though she’s had some more highlights added into the dark brunette. Probably hiding pesky new grey hairs, which he is sure would look fine on her anyway.

“Sorry, do you mind?” A woman’s voice breaks through his inner thoughts, and he regrettably has to look away from Nicola. The woman is motioning to something behind him, and Malcolm realises he is blocking the end of the isle. He murmurs an apology and steps forward with his basket, allowing the woman access to whatever she was after.

When he looks back over to the other end of the isle, to his dismay, Nicola is gone. He blinks a few times, thinking maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. Then begins to walk towards where she’d just been standing with her trolley. It hits him like a sledgehammer to the face; her floral perfume. The exact same one she’d left behind in the office after making her exit all that time ago.

She wasn’t an apparition; she was flesh and blood and she was close.

Malcolm discards his basket. And turns back in the direction he had come from. Intent on leaving his past where it belonged, behind him. It was too soon for this type of conversation. To raw.

As he nears the exits, which unfortunately are behind where the tills to pay were, he see’s her again at the self service checkout.

And this time, she definitely see’s him as well.

From this distance, Malcolm can’t really read her face. He assumes she is just as shocked as he had initially been when he saw her earlier. He doesn’t know what to do. She could see him looking at her as well, so it didn’t seem right to just scuttle away like he’d originally planned. So he weakly raises his hand at her and waves. Fucking _waves._ She must find the gesture just as ridiculous as he does. Nicola doesn’t return it, just turns her attention back to the machine and continues to scan and bag her shopping.

Her back is to him now at least, but that meant she was facing the way towards the exit. Which meant if she happened to look up while he walked by...the thought makes him feel weak. Still he couldn’t just stand there all day. He was sure the bald security guard that he’d spotted upon entering the shop would be eyeing him up by now.

Taking a deep breath, he carries on towards the exit. He makes a point of not looking at Nicola as he gets closer to her particular self service machine. From the looks of it she still hated him, as he knew she would. Better to leave things as they were; at least he’d gotten to see her again. But he would definitely be going to Asda or Morrison’s next time.

“Haven’t you got the nerve to face me then?” He hears to his side. And stops walking, luckily there was no one right behind him.

He glances at Nicola. Who’s isn’t actually looking at him. She’s going about her routine, rummaging through her handbag for her purse. “Excuse me?” He manages to say, not sounding anything like his old self. Too surprised that she’s actually acknowledged him.

After getting her purse, Nicola still doesn’t look at him as she inserts her card into the machine in front of her. “I saw you earlier watching me.” She admits, as she types in her PIN number. “I thought you were a lot of things, but not a fucking coward.” She adds flippantly as she waits for the transaction to go through.

There’s something in the way she refuses to look at him that irks Malcolm to no end. Like he was an afterthought and she couldn’t be bothered to even have this conversation. Even though she was the one who initiated it. “Aye well if you’re so much braver why didn’t you say anything when you saw me?” He retorts. It’s petulant, and he knows that she thinks the same by the way she scoffs under her breath. “You know what, Nicola. Fuck it. There’s no reason for us to even be talking. It’s been what, eighteen months? If you’re still cut up about politics then that’s not my problem.” He raises his voice a little, causing the man next to Nicola’s machine to frown at him.

“That’s just lovely, Malcolm. Thank you for reminding me, not that I needed you to. What an absolute tosser you are. I see prison hasn’t taken that away from you.” She bites back, as she finally looks at him. And fuck, does she look smug. As if he would be mortified at her mentioning his time away.

“And you’re still a sour faced frump.” He spits back. For a split second she looks hurt, but he can’t be sure because her face soon morphs back into that of complacency.

She picks up her bagged up shopping and neatly packs them on the trolley, then asks. “Why are you still sharing the same air as me then?” 

He can’t help but glare at her. “Good fucking question.” He snipes, before carrying on with his first plan of avoiding her, and moves as quickly as he can towards the exit.

The fresh air hits him; and Malcolm tries to remember how to breathe.


	4. I Grieve In Stereo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm makes some progress with Nicola.

It must of rained while he was inside, everything looks slightly damp. At least he missed the apparent downpour and could walk the few streets back to his home without being soaked. He’d gotten a bus here, but he wanted to clear his head. His mind was just filled with _her._ Nicola Fucking Murray; the persistent thorn at his side. The neurotic former Minister, who he considered a shambles. Just so happened to be the only person left on Earth, apart from his sister and her kids, who he actually _wanted_ to be around. There’s no point denying it to himself now. Not after that disastrous display. Seeing her in the flesh has reignited the same feelings of fondness he used to bury deep down inside back during the DoSAC days. Christ, he hadn’t realised how much he missed their verbal sparring matches. Even her voice, her generic middle class mum, tone; made him feel weak. He feels like a teenage girl with a goddamed crush; it’s pathetic. 

“...but _you_ said you’d be home at a decent time tonight. No actually you _promised_.” Malcolm practically jumps when he hears _that_ voice again. He’s sure he’s finally lost it and now hearing it inside his own head. It’s not until he sees Nicola walk straight passed him towards the car park, that he realises he’s not loosing the plot quite yet.

He’s a few steps away from the entrance, to the side, near the cash points, so she doesn’t notice him. Nicola stops mid stride, squeezing a phone between her ear and shoulder, as she rummages through her hand bag, for what he assumes are her car keys. She finds them, then hooks a key ring over her index finger, and adjusts her head again so she can hold onto the phone properly. One hand on the trolley to stop it from rolling away. “It’s Ella’s birthday, James. What am I supposed to tell her?” 

Malcolm grimaces when he realises who she’s speaking to. For some reason he thought Nicola would of left him by now. From what he knew of the elusive James Murray, he’d never been a supportive husband. More of a nuisance that Nicola had to put up with because of a ring on her finger. By the sounds of things nothing had changed on that front. “That’s besides the point, you know it’s me who-“ He must of cut her off, because Nicola scowls as she moves a little to the side so she’s not standing in front of the entrance of the supermarket anymore.

“Fine. Mhm.” She mutters, her knuckles turning white as she squeezes the arm of the trolley. “You better be taking the whole day off tomorrow to make up for this. I mean it, she’s your fucking daughter and-“ She frowns once more, as James interupts her a second time. It makes Malcolm angry. Even when they argued back when they worked together, he’d always let her finish getting her point across. He wonders it was a normal occurrence in their marriage. For James to dismiss her, not even listen to what she’s saying. Only caring about his own opinion. 

“Yes, James I know. Okay, whatever. Bye.” She moves the phone from her ear and ends the call rather aggressively with her thumb. A strand of her brunette hair falls over her face, and she blows it out of the way, before putting her phone in her handbag and carrying on towards her car.

Malcolm wants to go after her. He even takes a step forward. But he stops himself at the last minute. She was already annoyed after their brief interaction earlier. Now she was fuming with her husband; he doubts much good would come of it if her approaches her again so soon. 

He’s about to turn back and actually try to get some groceries, now he knew she wasn’t inside. When he notices a small square card on the ground. He picks it up, and realises it’s her bank card. It must of fallen out of Nicola’s bag when she was retrieving her keys. If he was a spiritual person, he’d say this was divine intervention. A sign that he’s supposed to speak to her again. 

But he’s not. 

An this isn’t some mystical sign. This is just bad fucking luck.

In between debating wether or not to just hand in the card at the help desk, and have them deal with contacting Nicola, his feet seem to have other ideas. And before he can talk himself out of it, he’s nearing her car.

By the time he gets to it, Nicola has opened the boot and is transferring her shopping bags from the trolley into it. 

“Nicola?” He ventures softly, far to softly for him anyway. He draws out each syllable of her name. It feels strange in his mouth, having not spoken to her for so long. 

She glances over her shoulder at him, the last bag hanging from her fingers. “Oh for God’s sake.” She huffs, then rolls her eyes and drops the bag into her car. “I thought you said there was no reason for us to be speaking. Can’t you just leave me alone, today of all days?” She snaps, then slams the boot shut much harder than she needs to. Turning around suddenly, she crosses her arms, her handbag slipping a little off of her shoulder. “What do _you_ want?”

Malcolm feels a mixture of pride and irritation. He’s not used to this version of Nicola. She’d been indignant with him in the past, but never dismissive. This wasn’t the Nicola who needed his reassurance and praise; this woman was harsher. Was it his influence on her finally catching up? He admonishes himself for how utterly narcissistic that is of him to assume. She keeps staring at him, and he notices for the first time that she’s wearing a pale pink colour on her lips. No one else would notice, but it had been his job for years to notice the most minor of things. 

“Hello?” She uncrosses her arms and clicks her fingers up in front of his face. “Earth to Malcolm?” One of her hands curls around the edge of the trolley, and it’s clear she’s in a hurry to leave. 

“You dropped this.” He finally explains, holding out the debit card towards her. “So you’re fucking welcome.” He adds sarcastically, unable to help himself. 

Her eyes drop to the card in his hand briefly, and she looks somewhat taken aback. “Oh.” Nicola reaches forward with her free hand. As she takes the card from him, their fingers subtly brush against each others. The connection only lasts seconds, but it sends a jolt of electricity through Malcolm. And he drops his hand back to his side immediately. If she felt it as well, she doesn’t show it. Just tucks the card into the back pocket of her jeans quickly. “Thanks... I guess.” She says begrudgingly.

They stand there awkwardly afterwards. Malcolm stuffs his hands into the pockets of his well worn jacket. “So are you-

He’s interrupted by a vibrating sound coming from Nicola’s bag. She swears under her breath and reaches into it. Malcolm places a lone hand on the empty trolley, after she lets go of it. Nicola looks at the name flashing up on the screen, then sort of looks at him, and turns her her back for privacy. “Hi sweetheart,” she greets the person on the other side. Far to kindly for it to be James again. And a thousand times less cold than she’d just been speaking him. “I know he told me, I’m sorry.” She goes on, taking a couple of steps away from him. “But you’ll have your friends over and I promise it will be a really lovely party.” Her tone is so soothing, Malcolm wishes it was him she was talking to like that. But he figures it’s her daughter, Ella...the one that caused all the drama. He tries to to figure out how old she’d be turning. Fourteen, fifteen or older maybe? 

Rather than eavesdrop on more of her conversation, Malcolm decides to make himself useful and take the shopping trolley back into one of the various bays they had for them scattered in the car park. On his way he thinks about Nicola and a house full of teenage girls, celebrating her daughters birthday. The image makes him smile. He can picture her trying to be helpful, but probably coming across as erratic. He knows she’s not a strict parent, but he also doesn’t see her as a ‘cool mum.’ Just one that wants everyone to be happy, and fuck...how could James want to miss out on that? He doesn’t understand some men. Actually he doesn’t understand a lot of them. Like the ones who would overlook a woman of a certain age like Nicola. Just like he had; and was only now realising it for the first time. 

After securing the trolley he turns back toward Nicola’s car. She’s not speaking on the phone anymore, but as he gets closer he can see she’s texting someone. Her brows are knitted together, a habit when she’s concentrating. When she’s done she looks up at him again. “You didn’t have to keep that for me.” She says, sounding less angry than a few minutes ago. Maybe speaking to her daughter on the phone had softened her resolve. “But thank you. And for finding my card. I’d of looked like an idiot at the petrol station on the way back without it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He says, hating how stilted he was around her. He also couldn’t stand her thanking him. It showed the depth of her niceness that even though she hated him, she was still greatful for the tiniest of favours. He didn’t deserve any shred of kindness from her. “Listen Nicola despite what I said in there, I actually do want to talk to you.” He blurts out before he can re think his decision. 

A pained expression crosses her face. “Malcolm I don’t think now is the time for all that. Besides it’s been so long since...well since everything. I don’t really think about that part of my life anymore.” She says in a measured tone, though the way she fidgets with her keys gives away her anxiety. 

“Right of course you don’t.” He responds a little deflated. He’d spent so long musing over her and the past. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would simply forget it. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he shakes his head. “Well it was nice to see you again anyway. You look _good.”_ She quirks up an eyebrow at him and he corrects himself. “I mean you look healthy.” Fuck that wasn’t any better, he thinks. But Nicola just looks sort of bemused. “Anyway I’ll let you get off.” He says finally, and turns to retreat back into his own solitude. 

Malcolm has barely walked away when she calls after him. “Wait.” He turns around instantly. Nicola is still by her car, but she looks as though she has something else to say. “What I meant is I don’t have time to talk to you right this second. It’s Ella’s birthday and I need to get home before her friends start turning up.” She explains, motioning around with her hands in the process. “If you really do want to speak to me properly, we can arrange to meet up another day?” She suggests, sounding a bit unsure. 

He feels his shoulders sag, then pulls out his new phone from his pocket. “You’ll need my number then. You can let me know when you’re ready and what day suits you best.” 

She hesitates for a moment, “and what if I change my mind? I mean you _were_ absolutely vile to me that day. Fucking awful actually. It might be nearly two years, Malcolm. But I still hate how you made me feel back then.” She asks, already getting her phone out again. 

Hearing her say the words is like a dagger into his chest, but he keeps himself put together. “If you change your mind I won’t bother you again.” He answers honestly, “and I’ll understand.”

She nods, but then smirks a little and motions with her head at his phone. “I never thought I’d see the day you using anything besides a blackberry.” 

He looks down at his new Samsung phone, then shrugs. “Aye well a lot has changed.” He muses, then shakes off the strange feeling that comes over him. “You ready?” 

She nods and he starts to read out his number.


	5. Giddy With Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm tries to remember how to function normally. Nicola’s life is just as chaotic as ever.

Logging into his email fills Malcolm with dread these days. Not because he expects an avalanche of messages; but the opposite. He feels utterly useless each time he logs in just to find spam and the occasional advertisement from products he can hardly remember purchasing in the past. The total lack of Mail reminds him how vacant his existence is now. He does it though, each and everyday since his release; a routine from back in his days as the relentless spin doctor. The first time he logged into his hotmail account after leaving prison there had been three publishers inquiring wether or not he’d be interested in writing a tell all book about his time in Downing Street. And several journalists wondering if they could have an interview with him. He has ignored them all; not wanting to feed the monster. Luckily for him he has enough savings to keep him going for a while. He wouldn’t turn to those vampires until he was on his knees needing money; though he hoped by then he’ll of managed to find a new vocation. It was difficult, starting over. Even more difficult with a criminal record and being so well known in the public eye. Taking a sip of his luke warm coffee, Malcolm closes the laptop, and moves it next to him on the sofa. His eyes peer over to the television that he’s left on, but muted. He smirks to himself as he watches a Minister he doesn’t even know now, being flocked by journalists as they leave Downing Street. Something about an overlooked tax expense; they never change he muses to himself.

Downing the rest of his coffee, he gets up to take the cup over to the sink. Then he opens his fridge and grimaces at the lack of contents. He never did do the rest of his shopping that day nearly a week ago now. Too distracted with thoughts of Nicola, and how she’d actually given him the time of day. Fuck her for being so nice. A part of him wishes she’d of told him where to go. Though he hasn’t heard from her since giving her his new number. So maybe she had changed her mind. Good for her, he thinks as he closes the fridge. Malcolm decides to do an online shop. At least by getting it delivered straight to his door, there’s no chance of bumping into her again.

He grabs his phone off of the counter, where it’s been charging and starts to type in a generic supermarket name, when it happens. A message notification pops up, from an unknown number. His heart flutters in his chest, and he wonders if he’s got some psychic ability. His thumb hovers over the notification for a second, but before it disappears he clicks on it.

The universe really must love messing with him. He almost laughs when he reads the message. Some hack journalist who’s somehow gotten his new number has actually had the audacity to message him, asking for an exclusive. It makes his blood boil, and he wastes no time in replying in the form of expletives and condescending adjectives.

Of course it wasn’t Nicola, he berates himself once the reply is sent. It’s been too long for her to message him now. And she made no promises, fuck she flat out told him there could be a chance that she changes her mind and he should just accept that. He told her he would, and he wasn’t about to go back on his word, no matter how desperately he wanted to see her again.

He needed to focus on himself now. Get his life back on track and stop dwelling on past mistakes. He wonders if his former assistant Sam still has some connections outside of politics. She had said to him before his arrest that if he ever needed anything, just to call. Maybe it was time to swallow his pride and take her up on that offer.

His phone starts ringing, and Malcolm glares at it in his hands. Whoever this reporter was really had some nerve. First to text him, and now to actually call him. He wishes he hadn’t of replied, it’s like throwing a starving dog a bone. Usually he wouldn’t answer the unknown number, but he’s riled up and needs to vent his frustration out on someone. Just so happens to be a journalist; fucking perfect.

“Listen you wank stain,” he shouts down the receiver. Old insults coming back to him naturally. “I don’t know how the fuck you got this number, or who lied to you and told you, you were special. But you must be out of your pea brained fucking mind, to A. Message me, B. Ring me. Like I said. You can shove your interview up your fucking arsehole!” He’s out of breath, it’s been a while since he let loose on some incompetent idiot.

There’s what he assumes is stunned silence on the other line. Good, they got the message. He’s about to hang up when a woman’s voice on the other side of the line speaks up.

“Uhm, Malcolm?”

Fucking _hell._

 _“_ Nicola?”

“Yes.” She confirms, and he feels like an idiot. “I’m guessing you’re still being hounded by the press? They pestered me for a while. I wasn’t quite as abrupt with them.”

He closes his eyes and grimaces. Then leans against the kitchen counter. “Well I just got a text from one of the cretins from the Mail. Fuck knows how they got my number. But that’s not important now, shit. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to call.” His palms start to sweat. Feeling caught off guard. Speaking to her on the phone was somehow more unnerving than in person.

There’s a sound of a door closing, as if she was moving into another room. “Well I was going to text.” She starts to explain, the line sounding a little better. He guesses she’s gone outside into her back garden. “I didn’t really know what to say. Or how to word it, everything I typed sounded stupid. So I thought calling you was better. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, I’ve had a lot on.”

He wonders if she means work wise, with whatever she does now. Or maybe family life was hectic. It doesn’t matter, she’s gotten in touch and that’s all he wanted. “Don’t worry.” He reassures her, turning around to look out through his kitchen window. “Thanks for calling in the first place. I wasn’t sure if you’d take me up on the offer to talk.” Christ, since when had he become so docile around her?

 _“_ Oh..uhm. Yes, well...you’re welcome.” She sounds nervous. She shouldn’t be, he was the one who should be anxious. He was the villain in this scenario. “Look I only have a few minutes. I’ve left James with the kids in the lounge, and it’s Sunday. I just thought we could arrange to meet up this week. If you still want to talk to me properly.”

Malcolm frowns, was James not inclined to spend his day off with his kids? It’s not his place to pry though, not anymore. “I do.” He blurts out a little too quickly. Then composes himself. “So what were you thinking?” He asks, leaving all of the decision making to her. He wants her to feel comfortable.

“I’m free on Tuesday. I could meet you around eight o clock. There’s a pub near the Tesco’s we were at the other day. I’ve never been there, but seeing as we both seem to know that area I just thought...” She trails off, something she used to do when she thought she was talking to much.

“That sounds grand.” He answers, not mentioning that he finds it odd she wants to meet in a pub. He’d assumed they could meet at a park or somewhere less, well less crowded. He doesn’t want to suggest it though, too worried she’d take it as a criticism.

He hears a door open again, and the line is a bit more muffled. “Okay then. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

He barely makes it out, “Tuesday.” He agrees, before she says her goodbyes and hangs up the phone.

He feels a wave of relief wash over him, as he lowers the phone. He goes to his recent calls to save her number. But is met by ‘No Caller ID.’

It could of been an oversight on her part. Maybe she always has her number hidden. His more cynical side tells him she’s done it specifically so he doesn’t have her number.

* * *

“NIC!”

James shouts from the living room as soon as she’s closed the patio door behind her. She huffs, she’d only left him with their two younger children for barely five minutes. She knows it’s his day off, and he likes to watch SKY sports and avoid any contact with any of them. ‘Me time.’ He calls it. Funny, she can’t remember the last time _she_ had any time for herself.

“Coming!” She calls back, as she makes her way through the house in her brown ugg boots. She feels the adrenaline that’d coursed through her after building up the courage to call Malcolm, slowly ebbing away. Nicola feels very proud of herself. After countlessly trying to come up with a text, she’d bit the bullet and called him instead. Plus she feels like she came across less scatter brained than usual. She had planned on sounding aloof, but her good natured personality had overridden any bitterness she was feeling. 

“Nic, hurry up! You’re bloody useless!” James shouts again, just as she gets to the door. She could of met up with Malcolm today, if she could count on James looking after the kids. Ella and Katie were both out with their friends. He’d only need to keep an eye on Josh and Rosie. But Nicola knew it was pointless asking. He would refuse and they would argue and she just didn’t have the energy. James worked late Tuesday’s while it was her day off. She’d arrange a baby sister. Or bribe Katie to look after her siblings for a couple of hours.

When she finally opens the door to the living room, Josh is trying to climb onto James, while Rosie is playing a game on her iPad in front of the television. “Honestly, Nic. I don’t get a second for myself.” James whines, as he tries to push Josh away.

Nicola leans down to pick him up. He’s a lot bigger now, and heavier. She winces a little, the muscles in her back pulling. “I was five minutes. You’d think I’d been gone a week.” She drawls sarcastically, before kissing Josh’s cheek and placing him back down. He holds onto the bottom of her blue cardigan, and she brushes some of his mousy brown hair away from his face and smiles down warmly at him.

“Don’t talk to me like that, I get enough grief at work. Fuck sake. Who did you need to call anyway on a Sunday?” James barks as he looks for the remote. “I mean it’s not like you have _that_ many friends these days.” He adds, and Nicola knows he’s trying to push her buttons. Since her shameful resignation, a lot of people she thought were her friends had distanced themselves. So he wasn’t wrong. Still, it hurt to be reminded. 

“My sister.” She lies smoothly, not sure why she doesn’t feel she can disclose who she was really speaking to. She could of even said an old colleague. Luckily for her James isn’t the least bit interested in her life. He doesn’t even look up from the tv once he finds the match he wants to watch.

“Can you manage with Izzy while I take Josh?” She asks, and gets a mumbled hmff back. She takes it as a yes. 

“Mum stop treating me like a kid and stop calling me that, it’s embarrassing. Dad doesn’t _need_ to look after me.” Rosie pipes up without look up at her either. Clearly James’s rude habits were rubbing off on their youngest daughter. She catches James grinning proudly as he turns the volume of the television up. Not at all bothered by Rosie’s dismissive attitude towards her. 

Shaking her head, Nicola takes Josh’s small hand in her larger one. She leaves Rosie sitting on the floor in the living room. “Come on you, how about we do some baking?” She suggests as she leads him out of the living room.

Josh pulls a face, “mummy you can’t bake!” He giggles, and she rolls her eyes. Even her kids knew she was a total shambles.

“I know, but I’d like to practice. And I’m sure with your help I’ll do a better job of making cookies than I did with the muffins for Ella’s birthday.”

Josh pulls at her hand, and giggles again. “You said a lot of bad words that day.”

Nicola smirks down at him. “Yes, yes I did. But that’s our secret. We pinky promised, remember?”

He nods, and they make their way into the kitchen. She’s reaching for a bowl, as Josh climbs onto a chair. “Are these going to be for us all mummy, even daddy?” He asks innocently.

Nicola sighs, “yes darling.” Then a thought occurs to her, “and we can make some extra ones if you want.” 

Josh scrunches his nose, as he watches her get everything ready and lay ingredients out on the kitchen table. “Why? Do you want to make some for your friends? Can _I make some_ for my friends at school as well?” 

Nicola pictures Malcolm’s face when she turns up on Tuesday with homemade cookies. She bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Something like that.” She tells Josh, because Malcolm was hardly a friend. She doesn’t know what he is to her. “And of course you can. That’s very nice of you to think of your friends.” She says, beaming at him. Maybe not all of her children took after James after all.


	6. On The Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting up again doesn’t go as smoothly as Malcolm hoped it would.

The pub is busy, busier than what Malcolm expects a Tuesday night to be. He’s early, Nicola said to meet at 8pm and it’s only 7:43pm on his watch. Malcolm heads straight for the bar and orders himself a Fanta with no ice. He debates what to get her. He remembers vaguely her drinking copious amounts of mojitos at a work party once. And her sipping on red wine after her speech in Eastbourne. He finds it less embarrassing ordering the red wine, and it seems for fitting for the occasion, so he gets her a glass of Merlot. 

As soon as he’s been served, he turns around with both drinks in his hands. His eyes scan for an empty booth. He hates the idea of sitting at an open table for this meeting. He wants privacy from any prying eyes that may recognise them. As if on que a young couple vacate a booth, and he wastes no time in slipping into it as soon as they’ve left. Their empty glasses are still on the table, and he debates taking them to the bar himself. He doesn’t wasn’t to risk loosing the booth though, so just stacks them on top of each other and pushes them to the side of the table near the wall.

Malcolm takes a small sip of his Fanta. Then peers his head around towards the entrance. There’s a clock above it showing him the time. It’s nearing 8pm now, and he starts to feel nervous. This was new for him, this feeling of unease.

As the minutes tick down, he waits for her arrival. It’s just after 8pm, when the door opens and her familiar brown hair comes into view. It’s slightly more frizzy than the last time he saw her. Like it’s rained a bit outside or something. Her lilac duster jacket is replaced by a maroon trench coat and she looks tired.

He stands up, and waves towards her. She looks over but doesn’t wave back. Just walks to the booth determinedly.

“Hi.” He says once she’s sitting down opposite him. She offers him a tight smile in return, her eyes dropping to the glass of merlot in front of her. She pulls a face. “Don’t you drink red? I thought you did.” 

She looks at him curiously, then waves her hand in front of herself. “No it’s fine honestly. Thank you.” She says, picking up the glass by the stem and taking a small sip. He can tell she doesn’t really like the drink. But is too polite to complain. He wants to get her something else. But before he can offer, she speaks again. “So Malcolm, here we are.” She says, then shakes her head and smiles. “If anyone had told me I’d be sitting in a pub with you anytime soon, I’d of told them they needed to be sectioned.” 

Now it’s his turn to pull a face, “ouch.” He drawls sarcastically, placing his hand over his heart. She ducks her her head to hide a smile, he wishes she wouldn’t. “Aye, well that’s fair.” He says eventually, fingers playing with the glass in front of him. “I don’t deserve you talking to me again. That’s for fucking sure. So I’m grateful anyway.”

Nicola looks somewhat taken aback by the admission. She looks at him strangely, then ducks her head down once again. One hand drops to her lap, while the other fidgets with the stem of her wine glass. The last thing he wants is for her to feel uncomfortable. His comment, though said in a casual manner, hides layers of unspoken issues between them. Instead of agreeing with him, Nicola just hums in response, before finally looking up again. She shifts in her seat and brushes back a lock of brunette hair behind her ear. “So how are things, Malcom? What does Downing Streets former master of the dark arts get up to once he’s vanquished?” 

So she was reverting back to small talk instead of dealing with the real reason they’d decided to meet up. If that’s where Nicola wanted to start this, then fine, who was he to demand anything more from her? “Fuck all right now.” He admits honestly. “But I’m sure I’ll find something to put my talents to good use again.” He says sardonically, before sipping his glass of Fanta.

“Not tempted to do that exclusive in the meantime then?” She asks, picking up her glass of wine and taking another small sip. 

“And what exclusive is that?”

She shrugs, “you mentioned on the phone someone from the mail had gotten your number. I’m guessing they wanted an exclusive interview with you, seeing as you’ve yet to tell your story to any other media outlet.” 

He exhales sharply, the ‘yet’ feels like a dig. “Why give them what they want?” He says, “besides the longer they have to wait the more inticing the offers get.”

“Or they might just get bored and forget about you.” She responds, not sounding smug, just...well sounding empty. “They’ve definitely forgotten about me, thank god. I did one interview on BBC breakfast after my resignation. It was a disaster.” She shudders at the memory, and takes a larger gulp of her wine. “I’ve always been a hopeless public speaker, as you know.” She adds, reverting back to putting herself down. 

He suddenly feels an overwhelming need to reassure her. Not something that comes naturally to him. “It wasn’t all bad, you did a fucking good job at Eastbourne. Even without any Mannion jokes.” 

Her mouth opens, as if she’s about to rebuff his praise. But then she shuts it abruptly and just sort of hums under her breath. 

There’s a minute of stilted silence between them. Malcolm fills it my drinking most of his drink. Watching as Nicola just stares off into the distance. “Well what about you?” He asks when he can’t stand it anymore.

His question brings her back to reality, and she looks at him curiously. “Me?”

“Yeah you.” He repeats, “have you found a better career path?”

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s thinking this is all a ruse. In the past he knew everything about everyone. She probably thinks he’s done his research, he hasn’t. Vetting people just didn’t have the same kick to it as before the shit hit the fan. 

“I work for a university.” She says a little quickly. “As an economics lecturer.” He smiles, because of what she’d just said about public speaking. He suspects though that talking to a bunch of young adults about something she was truly passionate about, was probably easier than the general public and journalists.

“I think that’s great, Nicola. At least you’re more than qualified to lecture students on the do’s and dont’s of economics.” He says plainly and honestly. She looks shocked at his praise. 

“I...really? That’s it?” She balks at him, eyes wide. “Who are you? And what have you done with the real Malcolm Tucker?” 

He grins, “he’s sitting right in front of you, the other fella was Malcolm _Fucking_ Tucker. Big difference.” 

“So is this your plan for redemption? Pretend that it was the job that made you an absolute cunt, and that it wasn’t the real you?” She laughs sardonically, “and I thought I was the terrible liar.” 

Nicola always had the uncanny ability to catch him off guard like this. 

Just when he thinks the conversation is staying on a safe topic, she does a massive U-turn and sends them into a collision course of past grievances. “I don’t know about redemption.” He says, scratching his cheek absentmindedly, “but I know when to admit I was wrong. Like with you, I was wrong for what I did to you in Dan Miller’s office.” And there it is, the big fucking elephant in the room. “And probably for a whole avalanche of other shit, but especially that. So I’m sorry, okay?” 

Nicola opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks like a rabbit frozen in place out of sheer fright. “Fuck you, Malcolm.” She sneers, trying to keep her voice down. “Is that why you wanted to see me? To meet up and apologise to me for _that_?” She scoffs indignantly, and starts putting her trench coat back on. 

“Nicola I don’t- 

“No. You don’t get to speak, it’s my turn.” She cuts him off abruptly, as she pulls out her hair that’s caught inside the collar of her coat. “If you just wanted to say sorry you could of done that in the car park. Fuck, you could of done it any time between then and now. Instead you make a big song and dance about wanting to talk to me properly. And for some stupid reason I though that maybe you...” She trails off, then shakes her head while chuckling under her breath. “Truth is Malcolm, yeah that hurt me when you practically sacked me in front of my replacement. But honestly after a few days I didn’t give it a second thought. The fact that you think I’m pathetic enough to let something like that effect me, just shows me how little you must think of me. ‘Oh no, poor Nicola, probably has a mental breakdown every time someone shouts at her now.’” She mocks, using the worst Scottish accent Malcolm has ever heard. She downs the rest of her wine in one swig. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so concerned about her reaction. 

“What the fuck did you think I wanted to talk to you about?” He snaps, frustrated at how badly things were going. 

A flash of hurt crosses Nicola’s features. He doesn’t know what he’s said that’s so upsetting. But it makes her stand up to leave. “Maybe I _am_ pathetic,” She sighs, as she tries to to wedge herself out of the booth. “Christ, I must be if you don’t even have a clue.” 

Just as she gets out, he leans over. Malcolm curls his fingers around her wrist gently. “Have a clue about what?” He asks softly. He looks up at her intently, taking note of how she bites the inside of her cheek. His hand on her wrist feels strange, he hasn’t had much human contact for a while. He savours it, letting his thumb trace a circle over her pulse point. 

“Let go of me, Malcolm.” She sighs sadly. Although it’s the last thing he wants to to, he does; never one to touch someone who didn’t want to be touched. “It’s okay I forgive you for what happened with Dan Miller.” She says flatly. “Let’s just carry on with whatever the fuck we were doing with our lives before bumping into each other.” She says, offering him a small smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes though. “Bye, Malcolm.” 

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond. Nicola quickly dashes away towards the exit. He sits there for a few seconds, before quickly getting up himself. 

He follows her; because carrying on his Nicola-less existence, wasn’t something he wanted to do. 

Clearly their wires were crossed. And he needed to know what she meant.

Though he suspects he already knows the answer and was just to much of a coward to say the words out loud. 


End file.
